


Familiar and Unchanging

by glasscannon



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: 2.07, Angst, Canon Compliant, Doggy Cuddles, Dogs, Eloping, F/M, Gen, Horace knows what's up, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, and what's up is ANGST, elopement, spoilers through the end of 2.07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-30 03:59:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8517709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glasscannon/pseuds/glasscannon
Summary: As she climbs the stairs towards her room Horace is shaking in her arms, and she finds she is shivering as well, in a way she cannot entirely blame on the chill.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day 3 of Carolight Fic Week on Tumblr: Carolight with Horace. I actually hadn't intended to write anything for this day, and then this idea popped into my mind this morning, and took the rest of the day to really form up. My beta is not yet caught up to this episode and I am trying not to spoil it for them, so this is largely un-beta'd (and un-Brit-picked). 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Caroline makes her way back inside with as much silent grace as she can summon; her dignity will have to wait until the morning. As she climbs the stairs towards her room Horace is shaking in her arms, and she finds she is shivering as well, in a way she cannot entirely blame on the chill. She grasps for all the iron control her governesses taught her and manages to make it through the sleeping house and behind the privacy of her bedroom door before the trembling truly overtakes her.

She sinks onto the nearest chair and sets Horace down, her hands shaking as she removes the pins from her hair. Dwight didn’t come. Of course he didn’t come, it was ridiculous of her to think he would, she scolds herself halfheartedly. _Wedded to his work_ , Ross Poldark had said, and perhaps if she had taken it as the warning he surely meant it to be, she might have saved herself this heartache. Perhaps if she had heeded the nagging worry in her mind that Dwight Enys could never leave Cornwall, certainly not for her. Or perhaps if she had been willing to wed on his terms, to lose her uncle and her fortune and the only life she had ever known. Perhaps if he had come to London in the last year as she had hoped he might. Perhaps if they had chosen another day, or agreed to meet at Nampara, or selected a destination other than Bath. Perhaps. Perhaps.

Caroline removes her dress and stays mechanically, laying them out beside her cloak and shoes and stockings for the morning, then shrugs into a nightgown without really seeing it, before climbing into bed. The sheets are cold against her skin, too long alone in a room with the fire banked on the hearth. Caroline piles the blankets over her, curls onto her side and wonders when the tears will come, only to realize, as a droplet slips across the bridge of her nose, that they had started without fanfare many long minutes ago.

She never once cried over Unwin, nor any of the suitors who came before. But these are not the first tears to fall as a result of one Doctor Dwight Enys, and she knows, with a feeling like a cold stone in her chest, that they will not be the last. She must somehow make it through the long journey to London with her uncle without letting a tear fall, but in the silence of her darkened room, she weeps openly for that which will not be.

From his plush bed across the room, Horace whinges.

“Hush my darling,” she whispers, turning her salt-stained face towards him. “We must try to sleep. We’ve such a big day tomorrow.”

Caroline closes her eyes at her own words, the same phrase she had murmured to Horace over the last twelve hours and in her heart always meant _Bath_ , in what had now clearly shifted to _London_. London was barely tolerable with Dwight’s letters to occupy her mind; how she will manage it now she does not know. She wonders if she will ever see him again, as her mind supplies the crystalline memory of his shy smile.

Horace whinges again, more imploring than before.

“Oh, alright,” she huffs, opening her eyes to meet the gaze of the small dog and throwing back the corner of the blanket in exactly the invitation Horace takes it to be. He hops from his bed and runs towards her, launching himself onto the mattress and then pausing a moment to get his footing before curling against her body, snuffling and fidgeting beside her until he is comfortable. She curls around him in turn, running her fingers over his short fur and pressing her face to him briefly, his familiar and unchanging scent grounding her as ever.

He licks at her tears and it makes her laugh, incongruous and strange sounding through the hoarseness of her voice.

“You love me, don’t you Horace?” Caroline whispers, and he licks her fingers as she reaches to scratch behind his ear. “Yes of course you do, my darling.” She smiles, but it feels tremulous. “It shall have to be you and me against the world, my love. We’ll keep the tears here between us, and show them only our best smiles. Will do you that for me, Horace dear?”

The pug snorts softly and rests his head on her hand and closes his eyes. Caroline lets her own eyes slide close as well, and tries not to heed the tears that continue to slip from beneath her lashes.


End file.
